Chapter Text
Aventurine arrives early to the skating rink, as he always does. He pays for his ice time; he wants to use all of it. He drops his bag by his favorite bench and gets his skates on. The zamboni is still resurfacing the ice when he’s ready, so he pulls out his phone.
Today is the day he meets with his latest in a series of coaches - Veritas Ratio. The man is notorious for being difficult to work with, just like Aventurine. Ratio, as the man prefers to be called, is known for his impossibly high standards and his no-nonsense attitude.
In short, he’s the polar opposite of Aventurine, who works only as hard as he has to and gives everyone as much pushback as he possibly can, regardless of the consequences.
He’s also late.
Aventurine runs through his usual warm-up - a few laps and some dynamic stretching - before moving on to some easy low-level jumps while he waits. He gets all the way through his single jumps - waltz jumps, salchow, toe loop, loop, flip, lutz, and axel - and is about to move onto double jumps when Ratio finally walks through the doors of the rink.
Oh damn , Aventurine thinks, he’s pretty .
Ratio is handsome like a Greek sculpture. His eyes are deep-set and his nose is strong and defined. Even from this distance, Aventurine can spot his gaudy red eyeliner. He’s wearing the usual figure skating coach outfit - long winter coat, snow pants, and thick gloves. He carries a bag with him too - probably to hold a water bottle and his phone and keys. Under his winter coat, it’s clear he’s more built than a typical ice skater. Where Aventurine has worked hard to keep his lithe build from bulking up too much and interfering with his flexibility, Ratio has muscles for days. His thighs could easily crush a watermelon. Aventurine might be drooling a little bit.
Ratio walks up to the open rink-side door. “Apologies for being late,” he calls over.
Aventurine snaps out of his trance and skates over. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he snarks. “What good is a coach who doesn’t show up to teach?”
Ratio doesn’t react to his comment, continuing unfazed. “I rather underestimated the commuting time to this rink, as well as the traffic situation. It’s not my usual location. This mistake will not occur again.”
“It better not,” Aventurine replies. “I’d hate to drop a coach on the first day.”
“You’d better lose that attitude,” Ratio responds in kind. “I’d hate to drop a student.”
“You - ! I’m the one paying you!”
“Then let me get my skates on, so I can do what you’re paying me to do,” Ratio says. He turns and leaves before Aventurine can formulate a response. He may be pretty, but this guy has a terrible attitude.
In the time it takes for Ratio to get ready, Aventurine has gotten a drink of water and made his way all the way up to double loop.
Ratio makes his way to the hockey box and sets his own water bottle and small bag down. “Stop,” he calls across the ice. “Let’s discuss the plan for today.”
Once Aventurine is over by the boards, guzzling water, Ratio starts talking. “I want to evaluate your skills today. Ah - before you can start interrupting, I know you told me where you were in terms of jumps and that you’ve passed all your skating skills tests, but I’d like to see where you are for myself. Let’s run your program and then we’ll see what needs the most work.”
Aventurine inwardly sighs. He hates his program. It’s only four minutes long, but it feels like an eternity when he skates it. It’s music he hates, it’s choreo he hates, it’s jump passes that still feel unnatural and wrong after months of doing them. Regardless, he runs his 6-minute warm-up, connects his phone to the rink’s speaker system, and hits play on the music.
He goes through the motions and skates the program. It goes fine. He puts his foot down on the double lutz and nearly trips over himself on a fucking crossover of all things, but other than that it’s fine . Nothing special happens with the rest of the elements, either particularly good or bad, so it’s fine. At a competition, he probably could’ve gotten second or something like that. He probably wouldn’t have been scolded too much. With his old coaches, this would’ve been passable. Maybe a bit of yelling. Nothing too awful.
So why does Ratio look so upset?
“You skate like you hate being here,” Ratio says, deadpan. “Fix that.”
“What?!” Aventurine exclaims, still out of breath after what’s basically four minutes straight of sprinting. “I do not !”
He loves skating. It’s one of the few things he has left that’s just for him - not for anyone else’s joy or pride, not for money or beauty or anything of value. Skating is a sport that he cherishes, because every step forward he takes is fully his own.
It’s part of why he drops so many coaches. They see him as theirs , as part of their accomplishments. Look what my skater can do. Look what I taught him.
You might’ve helped , Aventurine wants to say, but I did all the work. It’s because of my effort that I got here. I landed that jump. I passed that test. You did not. You stood there, and yelled when I got it wrong, and now I am leaving and will never see you again.
He’s not paying coaches to tell him what he does wrong, he’s paying them to tell him how to do it right. So far, none of them have hit that mark.
“I want to see more energy,” Ratio continues. “Skate faster. Bigger movements. Land your jumps like you’re proud that you did them. Get that dead-eyed expression off your face and replace it with something even slightly more appealing. But even beyond that, this choreography… this music… it is simply horrendous. Who did you say your previous coach was again?”
“Jade,” Aventurine glances to the side. God, he hates Jade. At first he thought it might even work out long term - she had been kind at first. It had only gone downhill from there. She had started scolding him for the most minor of errors, then those scoldings had turned into insulting his body composition and diet. Aventurine had tried at first to comply with her demands changing when and how much he ate to fit her strict schedule, but when it became clear that nothing was good enough for her, he had dropped her, blocked her number when she kept texting and calling him like an overly attached ex-girlfriend, and promptly switched rinks.
So. Clearly it hadn’t worked out long term. And now he’s here with Ratio.
Ratio sighs.
“Not a Jade fan?” Aventurine asks dryly.
“...You could say that.” Ratio answers, putting a hand to his forehead. “I don’t approve of her… more harsh methods. Back on topic. We’re scrapping that program entirely. But beyond your lackluster artistry and the horror that is the routine itself, your spins… need work. We will be fixing those.”
“My spins are fine!” Aventurine protests. “They meet the requirements!”
“Don’t talk back to me,” Ratio says. Aventurine flinches minutely. Ratio’s eyes flicker over to him, but he doesn’t comment on it. He pulls out a notebook and a pen. “Here are the requirements for spins for a gold singles free skate test.”
He narrates as he writes: “One combination spin, all three basic positions, minimum ten revolutions. Change of foot optional. You did a camel-sit-scratch spin combination, barely hitting two revs each in the camel and sit spins before holding the scratch spin until it died at ten and a half. Your scratch spin was all over your blade and traveled wildly. The easiest possible spin for the requirements and it wasn’t even high quality. Zero points.”
The coach continued: “Next. One spin with a flying entry, minimum six revolutions. You performed a basic flying camel. Your position in the spin and technique on the entry was, for the most part, correct, but I am inclined to believe this was only because without good technique there is simply no way for a flying camel to make it to six revolutions. You made it to seven before exiting. Towards the end it was slow and wobbling off of your spinning spot, but you held on. This would be a good spin - if you were testing silver, or even pre-gold. However, at this level I would expect a much faster, more difficult spin. One that would perform well in a competition, preferably. Five points for your troubles.
“Lastly, the spin in one position. Minimum six revolutions. You chose to do a sit spin, which is a valid choice, and it was a decent speed and was (barely) low enough to count as the basic position, but I was disappointed to not see a single variation among the three spins you performed today. What have your prior coaches been teaching you? Clearly not good, high-quality spins. You have the makings of a good, instinctual spinner, but it is glaringly obvious that you do not practice your spins. This will be remedied.”
Ratio rips the page out of the notebook. “Here. This is your starting point. After our lesson today, I will give you an end goal. I expect you to meet it.”
Aventurine’s arguments die in his throat as Ratio goes on and on. He feels himself get choked up. No one speaks to him like that! No one tells him off and gets away with it! (Jade had, for a long time, but that’s beside the point.) But… Ratio had also complimented him. Told him he had potential. And most of all, he was right. Aventurine had not been taught how to do other spins.
And Ratio was blaming the other coaches for this failure. Not Aventurine. Not once did he blame Aventurine for things that were not under his control.
Sure, he was scolded to hell and back for his shitty scratch spin and his mediocre sit spin. But Ratio had complimented his flying camel, as backhanded as the compliment was. He had said the spin would’ve been passable in a lower level, and even awarded him ‘points’. Whatever that meant. In short, he had said, “You don’t suck as much as you could. You’ve passed some bar, however low it was.”
Which, while not exactly a resounding cheer on his behalf, meant something. He wasn’t totally worthless.
Aventurine takes the paper from Ratio. It reads pretty much exactly the same as Ratio had said, but in bullet-point form. Here are the requirements. Fix this, work on that. Do better. Get better. Become better.
And Aventurine will. He’ll do whatever it takes to pass this final test, even if it means learning -
“Your flying camel has skill, but based on the way your right leg swings, you may be more suited to a death drop spin. Would you like to learn it?” Ratio offers.
Even if it means learning death drop.
—
Death drops and flying camels, although they are both flying spins (meaning that they jump, or ‘fly’, before the spin) are fundamentally very different spins. Both spins begin the same - an outside edge that hooks around, followed by a leg kicked around before it is landed upon and the spin begins. However, that is where the similarities end. For one, a flying camel lands in the backwards camel spin position, similar to an arabesque, and a death drop lands in the backwards sit spin position. In a death drop, the first ‘kick’ is vertical, followed by a second kick backwards with the other leg, all before the landing is made. In a flying camel, the ‘kick’ is barely a kick at all. Aventurine’s past coaches had likened it to a step over a waist-high fence. The leg swung around, over the imaginary fence, as the other leg flew up to land in the ‘camel’ arabesque position. Most people learn flying camel first, as it is considered the easier of the two, and as it lands in the more versatile camel position, which can lead to a high-level combination spin.
The most important difference between the two spins, though, is that learning a flying camel did not come naturally to Aventurine.
Learning a death drop does .
Ratio starts him off with a slow motion drill of the entrance - a forward outside edge that hooks around, catching the toepick, then kicking straight up with one leg, followed by switching feet and the back kick with the other, and finally pulling into a tight backwards sit spin. The only thing differentiating the drill from the death drop is the lack of a jump.
Ratio takes off his long coat so it won’t restrict his movement as he demonstrates. Underneath he’s got on a USFSA Gold Medalist jacket, showing that he’s passed the highest level of at least one test track. On the sleeve it reads: Solo Pattern Dance.
“You did the ice dance tests?” Aventurine asks. “Are you even qualified to teach spins?”
Ratio scowls. “I skated singles as well, which you should know. Ice dance was merely supplementary. 95% of my students learn jumps and spins with me, although there are some skaters that I teach ice dance to. That’s irrelevant to the current situation, though. I thought you wanted to learn death drop?”
“Teach it to me, then.”
“What do you think I’m doing?” Ratio says. He pulls out a king size sharpie from his bag, drawing a half circle on the ice, with a hockey line marking acting as the straight edge. “This will be your entrance curve. Follow it as you do the drill.”
Aventurine sighs and imitates the drill nervously.
“Good. Again. We want to build muscle memory before you attempt it for real.”
Aventurine does the drill a few more times before Ratio waves his hand to indicate for him to stop.
“Now do a death drop,” Ratio instructs.
“What?!” Aventurine exclaims. “But we’ve only just started learning it!”
His prior coaches had made him do drills dozens, even hundreds of times, before he was even allowed to attempt the actual thing. This was… new. Frightening. He wasn’t ready.
“And? You won’t learn unless you attempt it. Do a death drop.”
“This is bullshit,” Aventurine complains. “You’ve barely taught me anything! I’ve only done the drill, like, five times!”
“And I have deemed you ready to attempt the full death drop. Are you going to do it, or are you going to continue to stand there and waste both of our time?” Ratio deadpans.
Aventurine glares. If there’s one thing he can’t stand, it was wasting time. Ratio has already figured this out, it seemed.
“Fine.”
One attempt. That’s all he’ll give him.
He places his feet in a T-position at one end of the semicircle and pushes forward. His edge curls, hooks at the tip, and then he imitates the drill - kick forward as he pushes off his toepick into the air, kick backward at the peak with an arm above the head, then land and tighten into a fast back sit spin.
It feels easy. Natural. Before he knows it, he’s standing out of the back sit spin and pulling into a back scratch spin, then exiting the spin in a backward glide, simple as that.
“See? Easy as pie. I won’t have you doubting your skills. Only fools do that,” Ratio says. God, could this guy ever give a straightforward compliment? “Now, repeat it.”
And Aventurine does. And it is glorious. He’s more confident this time, his legs extending fully on the kicks, his sit spin tight and fast, and as he pulls out of the spin he can’t contain the smile on his face.
Neither, it seems, can Ratio. Aventurine spots the slight upturn at the corners of his lips. “You’re smiling,” he accuses.
“Is that a crime?” Ratio counters. “I’m simply pleased to see a student doing well. And to see one of my theories proven correct, of course. Death drop suits you much better than flying camel. I expect you to practice this spin on your own time, and to see great improvements.”
“It’s already really good,” Aventurine says. “Can’t we let sleeping dogs lie? Wouldn’t want to make it worse by over-practicing.”
“You’ll gain bad habits whether you practice the spin or not,” Ratio scoffs. “Speaking of your own practice time - I have a list here of what I want you to work on in terms of spins over the course of the next month. By the end of it I want you to be skilled in all three sit spin variations forward and backward, I want a decent layback-haircutter combination, and I want at least one upright variation on the back side. And fix your catchfoot, it’s atrocious.” He hands Aventurine a page out of his notebook.
“I didn’t even do a catchfoot spin! How would you even know that?!” Aventurine protests.
“You had a catchfoot spiral in your choreography sequence in your routine,” Ratio says. He crosses his arms. “You almost fell over.”
“I did not .”
“You most certainly did.”
“You must be mistaken, coach. And I haven’t even learned half of these spins - how am I supposed to practice them?” Aventurine questions, and rightly so.
“Fair point - which is why I’ll be sending you reference videos I expect you to watch. And over the course of the month, we’ll be working on the spins together during lessons, obviously. I wouldn’t leave you to fend for yourself entirely.”
Thank god , Aventurine thinks. He says, “I should hope not. That would make you a pretty shitty coach. I don’t pay shitty coaches.”
“Good. I don’t teach students who don’t put in the effort, so I expect you to work hard and make progress.” Ratio puts his notebook back in his bag and throws his long coat over his arm. “I’ll see you in two days. In the meantime, happy skating. Do a few more death drops before you leave, if you please.”
Ratio turns and skates towards the door. Aventurine watches him leave for a second, totally not staring at his ass (visible even through the snow pants), before he goes back to doing death drops.
Of course, it’s not without its falls (including a very memorable time where he does the first kick too high and falls right backwards on his ass) and its mishaps (where he attempts a death drop too close to the boards and gets scared by his own reflection) but all in all Aventurine’s first time trying death drop goes pretty well.
He’s so concentrated on skating that he almost doesn’t notice as the zamboni starts up in the background, signaling the end of the session. Eventually the zamboni doors open and Aventurine has to hurriedly shove his water bottle in his own bag and rush off the ice.
He doesn’t bother to slow down as he gets off the ice, jumping off with a skip in his step. After he unties and dries off his skates, Aventurine takes the time to look over the papers Ratio had given him. They both say much the same as he had said - Aventurine’s starting point and his end goal.
Inwardly he cringes. He didn’t think his spins had been that bad, but Ratio had torn them to shreds. Although - he hadn’t been cruel about it. He had simply stated the facts, truths that Aventurine couldn’t deny. His scratch spin was all over his blade. His flying camel was weak and wobbly. There was no way around it.
In a way, Ratio was almost kinder for not sparing his feelings. Aventurine would hate to not pass the gold singles test just because of his terrible spins.
Ratio had blamed his past coaches too, and not Aventurine himself - how curious. Isn’t it Aventurine’s fault for not knowing what he should, at this high of a level? It’s his responsibility to learn what he needs to. Ratio shouldn’t have to teach him lower level spins like cannonball and catchfoot just because of his own incompetence. God, he knew this would be a waste. Ratio should’ve dropped him as a student immediately.
A ding ! breaks him out of his thoughts.
Aventurine picks up his phone.
Veritas Ratio
Attached are links to videos of all the spins I’ve assigned you. I expect you to have watched them enough to imitate the positions before our next lesson.
Aventurine Panina
thanks, coach. see u then
What a strange coach. Mean and kind. Not cruel, but not nice either. Straightforward in his criticisms but backhanded in his compliments. The prettiest face Aventurine’s seen in a while, but with the worst attitude to go along with it. Someone who can handle Aventurine’s sass, and gives it right back to him.
What a strange coach.